Mello's complexion Complex
by GaaraShuShu
Summary: You'd think that three geniuses in an enclosed space would be able to come up with a solution to Mello's little problem, wouldn't you? Turns out they can't, and fun ensues. Death note, Mello Matt and Near, Wammy's House, short, complete


(A/N: Felt like writing something eastery, so I came up with this. Until last night it was all under-lined for some reason, but I think I fixed it! Many thankyous to Quarter Queen who pointed this out! You Rock!)

**Mello's Complexion Complex**

That night in late March, a couple of days after Easter Sunday, a terrible shriek shook the high ceilings and complex foundations of Wammy's Home for Gifted Children. The motley assortment of misfit geniuses gathered in the maple-lined corridors, searching for the source of the heart-rending, anguished cry. But already the three most promising prodigies were in the lodgings of Mello, attending to the problem.

"It's a zit Mello, not a culture of bacteria." Came the icy, emotionless voice of Near, the albino boy who was spread out on the floor, gazing at the ceiling and twirling a strand of platinum hair between his fingers.

"I think this is his first." Another short, fragmented explanation from the king of Mario Empire, Matt, who was pouring all his effort into his Nintendo DS, reclining on Mello's bed as he usually did at that time in the morning. He was used to his friend's petty vanity-inspired tantrums, which could not even distract him from his precious video games.

The final figure was crouched over a hand-held mirror, blonde hair veiling his face, which was contorted with anger and disaster. He lifted a finger and poked at the throbbing red spot on his chin.

"How…How could this happen to me?"

"It's probably all the chocolate you've eaten."

Mello rounded on the relaxed Near, who didn't even flinch. He slammed his hands either side of the boy's face, hoping to get some kind of reaction. Half-lidded black eyes gazed into Mello's brimming ones.

"I always eat chocolate! ALWAYS, ya brainless runt, but nothing like THIS has ever happened! So much for your BRILLIANT theory, but I guess you've been proven wrong for once! So next time you conceive another PERFECT LINE OF REASONING, how about keeping it to yourself?"

Matt snapped his game console shut and rolled over to face his two companions, irritated at being interrupted.

"I think what Near's trying to say is that you've eaten a lot more chocolate than usual." Matt swept a hand towards the pile of foil wrappers and cardboard boxes currently leaning in a tower within the bin. "So your body hasn't been able to balance the toxins, resulting in an outbreak of spots."

"That's a crock, Matt! You just made all that up!" Mello wailed, collapsing to the ground and pounding his fists on the Chelsea Mark hand-woven rug beneath him.

"Well excuse me, but I'm not a dermatologist, and I'm pretty sure Near isn't either. This is all just speculation about what caused it."

"I don't care what caused it! I want to get rid of it!"

"And shouting at us is going to help? Not everyone is running a conspiracy against you, and even if we were, I'm sure we could do worse things to you than give you a single puny pimple."

The blonde halted at his friend's words, not because he saw sense, but because he realised shouting at his friends might make them unwilling to help him in his time of need. Settling himself back against the wall, he tidied his hair and asked:

"So what're we gonna do?"

"I dunno, freeze it off?"

"And how would we go about that, Matt?"

"There are…like…chemicals in the labs downstairs." Matt scratched his head, pursing his lips in thought. Science was not his strong point, and he was clueless as to the cure for spots. "They might have something there."

"Don't think they'd let us start ladling the stuff on my face though. It's be expensive if everyone did that."

"Yeah. What if we try going the opposite way? Burning it off?" Matt flipped himself off the bed and began to advance towards Mello, producing a lighter from his pocket. The blonde reacted by swinging a heavy boot towards Matt's stomach.

"No way, you get away from me. KEEP THAT FLAME AWAY FROM MY FACE!"

"But I think it'd work! Whoa. No biting!"

"Fluoride."

It was a single word, spoken quietly from the recently silent Near, but it was enough to stop the warring adolescents. They both stared at him, Matt in a headlock with his arm thrust near Mello's jaw, still clutching the lighter, and Mello, a fistful of his hair trapped in Matt's other hand. They were too caught off guard to even let go.

"What do you mean?"

"Fluoride? Like in toothpaste?"

"What's that gonna do?"

Near looked at them as if they were imbeciles. _They're certainly behaving like it. _He mused grimly.

"Yes, exactly like in toothpaste. You put a little of it over the spot, leave it for a few minutes and it dries the spot up."

Mello gazed at him as he and Matt disentangled themselves, eyes narrow with suspicion. This remedy sounded too good to be true. What if it made the spot swell? But it seemed unlike Near to try something so simple and easy to figure out. Mello swallowed his pride and stood abruptly.

"I'll try it. But just so we can get on with our lives."

He swept into the bathroom, with perfect grace in the face of adversity. As the door slammed, Matt and Near exchanged a half amused and half-weary look.

"As if we were the ones causing the commotion!" Matt clicked his tongue against his teeth and picked up his game again, completely forgetting why he had put it down in the first place. Near nodded in agreement, barely having moved from his original position.

"That's Mello. Always the centre of attention."


End file.
